Here’s something I believe most startup/first-generation entrepreneurs can relate to. I wrote it in anger (why is immaterial for the sake of this post) and also recorded it (very clumsily) a few days ago. Then, I shared it with a select group of my dear and close friends (so, if you didn’t receive this privately from me, you know where you stand. LOL). Initially, I did not share it publicly because I thought it was an intimate and private emotion. However, it seems this sentiment is shared by many an entrepreneur, and if I can touch even one heart it’d make me happy.
To those who don’t identify with it or think it as anything but a spontaneous and honest outpouring of emotions after 29 years as an entrepreneur, to those that think these are the rantings of a loser, neither have I anything to say to you, nor do you really know me (or my life). In such a case then, this poem isn’t for you. Please ignore it and carry on with your lives. To those who think it touches them somewhere deep, thank you. You may or may not comment or even acknowledge it. But just in case you want to say something, feel free to comment or even write privately to me.
I was told I should sing this, like with a proper beat, professional recording, and some training. I am a bit cagey about it. I don’t want to not because I am embarrassed or have stage fear, but because I am incapable of singing this the way it really deserves to be. I believe professionals should be doing specific jobs only they can do best. Also, I think that because it probably resonates with so many people going through the same shit, each one imagines it sung in their own voice with their own rhythm. Why spoil that imaginative rendering inside their heads? By the way, I did attempt an amateurish recording though (on a mobile app in a car with closed windows). Some of you have heard it. It was shit.
To those it appeals to and who identify with it, needless to say, feel free to use it, share it, recite it, own it, even take credit for the ideas expounded in it. It is not just mine. It belongs to every one of us who wakes up in the morning with a million problems weighing us down, but still manages to somehow stir up enough courage to go out there and do our thing. It is a rare ability understood only by the person doing it and those closest to that person. Teddy Roosevelt’s “Man in the Arena” comes to mind.
At 47, I might have lost some of the energy and verve I had 29 years ago when I closed my first sale and made my first profit, and perhaps it is time to hang my boots (or hand in my gloves, whatever analogy suits you). In fact, I am in the process of calling my friends to ask them to find me a job if I cannot raise the requisite funding for this beautiful company and brand called Tasha & Girl very soon (like, perhaps by this month-end). But the month-end is 18 days away. And a 18 days is a long time in business, and in life.
So, every day, I wake up, and I force-fill myself with hope so that I can find the strength to get up, get out, and make it rain, or at least try to do so. Every night I come home (mostly empty-handed), I try and look ahead to the next morning rather than the day that passed just so as to make it through the night without waking up sweating, thinking with dread about worst-case scenarios.
This is not an easy life to live, especially when on the outside, I must never let my guard down and keep pretending as if it’s all OK and that bright sunny weather is right round the corner. And it is not an easy life to keep living day in and day out for 29 years.
I do not know how long I can carry on, and as I said, it is perhaps time to look for permanent employment somewhere after almost 3 decades of working (or at least trying to work) for myself. Of course, that being said, at least as of today, this hour and this moment, I am here. And I am standing.
This poem is dedicated to all of those who have led similar lives and who feel the same way, but are constantly looked down upon and told by other people in more comfortable positions and steady jobs, sitting on inherited wealth and ancestral property, having gotten lucky enough to go to the right schools, land up at the right companies, or marry into the right families at the right time, or any and all combinations of such completely fortuitous chance(s) as described, that somehow, in the just, fair world they (the lucky ones) inhabit, we yet-to-be successful (by their standards) risk-takers are stupid in our obsession with building something up by (and for) ourselves, that our pursuit of innovation and creativity is fraudulent, and that our dreams of entrepreneurship and business, aspirations of creating value and spreading wealth are but foolish dreams, naive wishful thinking, and delusions of grandeur.
As they sit back and bask in their comfortable lives and advice us to review our life choices, they intend to make us feel small. Degraded. Humiliated. And those of us who are weak, actually do. But there aren’t many weak people who are entrepreneurs. For natural selection in this world does ensure automatically that the tough ones stay standing, while the weaker ones fall by the wayside pretty soon.
So, to all those preaching to me about my life and how I ought to have lived it, this is an answer. Thanks for your advice, mate. But no, thanks.
‘Thanks. But no thanks.’ ~ by Kedar
Every day
In some way
Why do I wake up?
Surprised to be alive
Why didn’t I die?
In the night
Pass quietly without a fight?
Why did I survive?
Who knows?
Maybe I came close
Maybe I made it
By the skin of my teeth
Maybe if I cared
Why I was spared
I’d question fate
And investigate
But I don’t
So, I let it pass
I wish I’d died
Gone kaput
Certified
Kicked the bucket
Bought the farm
Call it what you may
Just gone
But no
I am still here
It’s dawn
Is there an explanation
For this non-cessation?
I lie to myself
I reach
I grope
I conjure up
Hope
On with the grind
I tell my mind
Wake up
Get up
Don’t mope
Cope
Laugh
Make a joke
Soak
In the optimism
Fake
The exuberant mannerism
But wait
What about bad thoughts?
Banish them
Punish them
Sweat them
Piss them
Spit them
Kick them
Punch them
Flush them
With the food
I ate last night
Start the day
All fight
No fright
Like a boxer
Once out
For the count
Broken nose
Body blows
Pain
Sprain
But up again
Blood in the eyes
Squinting
Blinding
But still standing
Swaying
So much gore
Still ready for more
Hoping
Scoping
Probing
For that one shot
At the right spot
To save the day
Clear the way
Finish it today
Against odds
What odds?
Ha.
Arrogance, you say?
Or is it denial?
Or maybe I am suicidal
Who’s asking?
And who cares?
You?
What did you do
For me?
Find fault?
Rub salt?
Taunt?
Mock?
Sneer?
Deride?
Take me for a ride?
Never by my side.
You? Telling me?
What to do?
Fuck you.
My life.
My strife.
Me and my wife.
My kid.
My family.
By my side.
My friends?
I got some.
If you don’t know that.
You ain’t one.
You don’t know me.
You don’t own me.
I got skills.
Still.
Enough to pay the bills?
I dunno.
You tell me.
I can sell.
What? You ask.
Well
What you wanna buy?
I could get you
The sky
Or hang you out to dry
In the blink of an eye
Wise guy
You think I am a fool
I’ve been the Principal
Of your school
I’ve seen life
I’ve thrown the dice
Bet it all
Never small
Put everything on the line
With a smile
“All in” is my style
I’ve seen stuff
Not the fluff
You’ve been peddling
The middling
Average
Mediocre
Plain
Life you live
The existence you believe
To be living
Is just surviving
Passing time
Between being born
Eating
Fucking
Dying
Have you ever risked
Everything
You had
And could have had
Crammed
Into one hand
Quicksand
Arid land
Took a stand
And be damned
To eternity
Lost your shirt
Self-worth
Name in dirt
Took the pain
Faced the hurt
Turned away
Betrayed
Flayed and frayed
Afraid
Prayed
Wished that you fade?
A razor blade
In your hand
Envying the dead?
Or looking instead
Down the balcony
Wondering how long
From your flat
For the splat
On the asphalt below
And whether your kid
Will remember
How you threw her up
And caught her tiny body
Plucked from the air
Or your own body lying dead
Spread
Dismembered
Just there?
Have you thought
Of ending it all
In a flash
With a fall
Or a slash?
But stayed
Your hand
Changed your plan
Made a stand
Lived to fight
Another day
Make another play
Stay
Pray
Fight
Slay
The monsters
Before they
Consume you
Chew you
Swallow you
Shit you out?
Have you stood firm
Fists curled
Eyes on fire
Feet planted
Looking the monsters in the eye?
And shouted in their face
Not today
Not today
NOT. TODAY?
No?
Then you don’t get to preach
Or teach
Beseech
Screech
At me about how I’ve lived
And why I’ve survived
Whether I deserve your sympathy
Or a fucking medal.
I’ll live.
Thanks.
But no, thanks.
P.S: Some people I shared this with asked me why I was so angry suddenly. To them, all I can do is channel my inner Dr Banner (or is it Hulk?) and say, “I’m always angry”!
