Pride and Stupidness

"I will buy you out."  The words hung there, as gray as the clouds that were rolling outside.

It was February, 2005.  We were 11 months into the experiment that was called The Firm.  And things were not going well.

It turned out that friendship and a "good feeling" you were going to succeed was no replacement for an actual business plan based on actual facts.  Had we closed a few deals?  We had indeed.  Was it enough to make things financially feasible?  Not at all.  My income had dropped 20% since I had taken the leap, The Ravishing Mrs. TB was 6 months pregnant with child number three, and frankly, the future did not look terribly bright.

And so I had tried to split the difference.  I had found myself an interview in my previous industry and had made an interview appointment - only to find out that day that I had visit with a client and so was late to the interview.  I managed to get neither the job nor the deal.

And so we were sitting there in the office - he facing the wall next to the window, I in mine facing by the door, in our faux wood desks and second hand office chairs at the end of the hall with the walls that were a little too thin, when suddenly the words just came.

"I will buy you out."

No price was mentioned, no value put on what that would actually look like.  And we were sorely between deals.  And so, I pondered.

A buyout could get me two, maybe three months.  Could I find a job in that time?  Certainly not near where we lived; no, it would have to be farther, much farther out.  But I could drop this without further consequence.  I could walk away before disaster struck.

But then, my pride entered in.  If I quit now, I would never succeed if my partner succeeded - and I firmly believed that he would succeed.  I would have been right on the threshold of greatness and have sat down and starved instead of going through the gate.  Instead, I would go back to the thing I had sought to leave in the first place, back to what I perceived was a dead end job that I had spent hours and hours driving to and from.  Unfulfilled and unfulfilling.

My answer was firm. "No"  I replied.  "I am staying.  I am committed."

Of course, the story has been discussed here before in some detail.  In short, the commitment did not matter.  We failed anyway.  I ultimately saw the friendship wither, my finances take a hit that took 15 years to recover from, and the firm conclusion that I did not have what it takes to "be my own boss" take root.  I did, by the grace of God, find a job in the industry I had come from, that required me to drive an hour one way and up to two hours back. 

Occasionally I think of that day when I am starting to question my involvement or commitment to or in a thing, when I have regrets or doubts and am thinking about changing the course.  Almost every time my pride shows up full force:  "Commitment.  Success.  Only losers give up now!"

Younger Me would have turned his face back into the storm.  Older Me thinks about it, tests the wind, sifts through the memories of sleepless nights and almost empty pockets and an impending feeling of doom - and just often turns the other way. 

There is staying with something when difficult times come.  There is also realizing that pride will run you over a cliff without a second thought.