Taking chances

I'm not one for slogans on a fuzzy background. They try to capture some thought general enough to either make readers frustrated or infatuated with themselves. Let's make that thought a bit more specific: I took a chance. So I can't regret the chance I did not take. But I failed. So now I am like millions of others: looking for a new job. Most of them will agree: not the most desirable LinkedIn status to have. The question is: do I regret the chance I did take?

Read on, maybe we'll find out together. It's not simple.

Let's begin with the facts. I had a good job: well paid, nice colleagues, and lots of freedom. It wasn't paradise but I couldn't (and I won't) complain. It's because of that job that I could create a vision of learner-centric technology. I am extremely grateful for that (by the way if you ask yourself: 'What vision?' then read some of my previous posts or visit our website). This good job in fact created the chances for me that I decided to take. To take them I needed to quit the job, knowing full well our odds weren't favorable (otherwise it wouldn't have been taking chances, now would it?).

We started our own enterprise (I should say start-up but I'm not a marketeer). I don't regret that - at all. We went for something we believed in. Correct that: we believe in, without d. The odds weren't favorable but we made some sacrifices in order to increase them as best we could (quitting jobs, for instance). If you want to assess how realistic our plans were, stop reading: this post isn't about that. In the end, after almost 18 months of trying, as said, we failed. We puzzled together some financing mix but in the end the pieces didn't quite fit and then we ran out of our stock of personal risk.

End of story? Not necessarily. We might live to fight another day. And anyway, it was not the start-up that was our story. Our story was this learner-centric vision. I hear you: you don't make an income on a vision. You're right. We adapted what we did (it's called pivot I believe) to focus on a real immediate need: creating the transparency on the labour market which I now know first hand there's not. And we got some traction (obviously: not enough) and found mathematical solutions (I got to use my AI degree and read up on Bayesian Networks; riveting stuff) that would power the (Sharp-)Skill DNA matching between individuals and jobs. Did we adapt enough? Apparently not, but, again, that's not the point of this post.

The point of this post is failure. 

There you have it: the dreaded f-word. I am advised not to use it by good friends. We should be proud for trying, they say. The vision will have rubbed off left and right, they say. We covered a lot of distance and might 'live to fight another day', they say. On all that (and much more), they're right. It's good to have friends. In essence though, it is failure and it's good to own up to it in order to move on. It's even hip to do so, people pay money to learn from other people's fuck-ups. Well, consider this a free version showing I can catch a trend from time to time. 

I cannot regret the failure. It was not something we decided to do. It happened. I am sure we could and should have done things differently. With hindsight, there are so many things you 'could and should have'. So let me surprise you (it is a bit of a surprise to me too): my main regret is that I tried too hard. Something is off in innovation-land on the element of trying. When you are in a big organization, people will naturally assume people need to be given space to innovate. When on the other hand you go independent you are pictured as only eating pizza and not sleeping, ever (which is hard if amongst founders you are - on average - 40 years with 2,25 kids). The 'big organization'-version is the correct one: inspiration will be killed by stress, each and every time.

Against every good advise I would have given to others, I started this venture for the right reasons but set goals (of full-time income, quick commercial success, ..) which were stretched. After that, what we did was more about reaching the goals than about creating something that was different, that made a difference. Voilà - there you have it - this is what I regret: getting caught up in the romantic ideal of starting up and making it fast. Making the product fast is good. Making 'it' is not so important as it is made out to be. This does not mean we could have done it in a different way: one does need time to do something and time comes at a cost. In the end we set goals not to get a Rolls Royce but just to get some runway. Still, it is something I regret: creating stress before actually creating something. There's a very personal balance to strike between "going for it" and not being dependent on quick success. It's a balance I regret to have gotten wrong. 

So now you know (and now I know): I don't regret taking chances but I do regret trying to force the issue. That was not me - and remaining yourself is important.  As you'll hear in movie theaters near you, some people are at their best "playing an orchestra". I'm a director (a modest chamber orchestra will do just fine in my case). I help teams to play at their best, to realize their talents. In this case I have pulled all stops to get me an orchestra. That costs money. Needing money makes you dependent. Which made me unhappy and less effective as I can be. At least I don't have anybody else to blame for that. I am happy and grateful for everybody (and there were many) that spent time on trying to help get this along. On this, I have no regrets whatsoever. On the long run that's the most important thing.

Take your chances. Just consider not trying too hard. Consider not "living up to expectations". And make sure, as I did with my family, to manage your personal risk, because taking chances implies the possibility of failure and failing in some thing is just that. Failing your friends and family, that is real failure.

With this I'm a director looking for a new opportunity. Suggestions welcome. I'm not going to respond to the content of our case though. Forgive me if I take some break from pitches. Some things just can't be judged in 10', in elevators, in 3' or - not even - in men's rooms. I have just 1 suggestion: most good things need time.