This is not some happy-go-lucky, lets-all-hold-hands-and-listen-to-jam-bands-happy-to-be-here, nonsense.
Rather, it’s that feeling when the jaws of the giant worm are closing around you, and you narrowly pilot the Millenium Falcon to safety. Nice one, Han. It’s when that massive ston garage-door on the cave is closing down, and you power slide right under only to emerge safely on the other side. Nice work, Indy. Or when you hit 88mph and your giant coat hanger hits the wire just as lightening strikes, returning you to 1988 with a flaming blaze of awesome. Time flux capacitor, all day.
When that happens, you’re happy to be there.
That’s what it feels like when you emerge from the depths of starting a company to see the light, either because things are going well, or because you flamed out and have the “relief” of finally shutting down.
My first mobile startup gotten eaten by the worm, crushed by the stone door, and mis-timed the lightening strike. The business didn’t make it through, but I did. I joined my current company after that.
I’ve been “happy to be here” since. Shutting down your startup puts a whole new shine on the rest of the working world.
In the three years since, the market forced our hand. We sold the old business to focus on a new direction instead of completely closing down. The classic: Pivot. What a simple yet challenging word. It’s two syllables that sound like the sound of spitting a watermelon seed. Pivot appears easy and quick, when it’s actually slow and deliberate and more like evolving. Pivolution.
We’re starting to emerge. There is light at the end of the tunnel, and at least for now, it’s not a train. That’s the “happy to be here” sentiment we’re discussing today.
Stick with me and I’ll walk you through the last 18 months of our overnight pivot.