I recently met a woman -- an artist about my age -- who, after 25 years in the nonprofit world, is venturing out as a solo entrepreneur. Well, actually, it's more like she's dipping in a little toe to see if she can take the heat. She handed me one of her cards, an elegant little odd-sized thing with printing so small I almost needed a magnifying glass to read it. That told me everything about her.
I was there not long ago. I am a writer. Writers love invisibility. In fact, most artists or creative people thrive on it -- and isolation. It's almost an article of faith for us. It's our comfort zone. So last year when, at the urging (more like arm-twisting) of an enthusiastic young friend, I chose more visibility and found myself at an entrepreneurial marketing event, surrounded by hundreds of energetic, wide-eyed young Millennials, I felt as though I had been ripped out of my comfy womb and thrown into the middle of a rock concert. In fact, they played such extremely loud rock music to pump up the crowd into a frenzy that it sent me -- literally -- running out of the room. "When you kids are my age you will regret not wearing earplugs as a constant accessory," I curmudgeonly told the audio tech. He concurred: "I hate it too, but that's what they want."
Nearly everything about the event pushed my buttons. I considered what I did "art." They said I had to become a "brand." I'm fiercely protective of the pace at which I'm willing to move. They mandated immediate deadlines. I stick to a tight budget. What they offered cost an arm and a leg. And of course, as they constantly reminded us, if you are resisting any of this it's an indication of how internally blocked you are.
The whole thing left me pretty breathless.
But I couldn't argue with their outcomes. They got nearly 300 people -- mostly young women, many frustrated with unsuccessful job searches or boring desk jobs -- to sign up for a year-long $1,000-a-month coaching program. And I can't blame those kids. Opportunities to get a financial foothold, buy a house, or save for retirement aren't what they were when we were their age.
As for me, I refused to be defeated, or to join the masses. I took the parts of their strategy that I had already paid for and felt were palatable and tweaked them to reflect my values ... and my pace. I developed a video series that got me invitations to co-author books, write guest blogs, and speak to groups. And I actually met some pretty wonderful women with whom I've stayed in touch. I also learned a lot about myself, notably as they pointed out, my areas of resistance. As an example, just the technological learning curve required to get up to speed on social media and digital communication (part of the strategy) is quite steep ... and humbling at my age. (Try learning video editing techniques from a very fast-talking 11-year-old on YouTube and you'll see what I mean.)
So, after all was said and done I wished those young kids well. And frankly, I was a little envious of their energy and enthusiasm. But as a parting shot I offered a few choice words to the organizers: turn down the music; clarify the steps involved in the program; and show the real costs. In my experience as a writer, and in life, I know that the devil is in those weighty details. But I doubt they listened. For the most part what they're selling is hope. And as Emily Dickinson said, "hope is a thing with feathers."
Earlier on Huff/Post50:
