If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
During the first decade of self-employment, I likened running a small business to building a plane while flying it. In hindsight, I see the flaws in this cliché, beyond lazy language.
The plane metaphor conveys a sense of pre-existing levity and grace—the plane is aloft, flying through the air, on a computerized course due north.
Never mind that, in reality, it would be impossible (not to mention futile and fatal) to service—let alone build—a plane while flying it. When a side door rips off due to sloppy craftsmanship, you’re only lucky if no one is sitting in that row. You certainly can’t replace it until you land.
Last summer, two months after my Favorite Former Client axed our longstanding licensing agreement, Michael and I were in line for a burger on his birthday. To pass the time, we started talking to the young woman standing behind us.
Lauren was an elementary school teacher from the Midwest, and it was her first time in New York City. She saved her money all year so she could spend the day running around Randall’s Island for Pokémon GO Fest—as nerdy and cute as it sounds—and now it was time to unwind with a bite to eat, before crashing on the couch of a stranger’s Airbnb (a woman far braver than me to book such accommodations).
We invited her to sit with us. When she asked what we do for work, we said painter and writer. (Sometimes we split test, choosing the slightly fancier-sounding author and artist.)
“It must take courage to live in New York City as two creatives,” Lauren said. “How do you make it work?”
Michael and I chuckled.