Burnt carrots

I did not think of owning a business as a personal self-development crucible. I've laid many demons to rest, some were bitter fights, some went willingly. This process seems to be introducing me to new ominous characters in the sense that it challenges entirely new levels of my development I didn't know were sitting there, undercooked. So I had a conversation with my former boss; a "psychoanalytic surgeon" of a friend. She has supernatural ability to detect what actually seems to be afoot.

We discussed a series of "Brand New Entrepreneur Tropes."

1. "Scary yucky budget." Committing money to travel and conferences, and it feeling less like investment and more like begging for belonging. Because paying to be in the room feels different than being invited.
2. "Vanishing mentor." The people who were so generous with advice are mysteriously busy now that you need them. Turns out, encouragement is easy to give, but tactical help requires time they don't have.
3. "Narcissistic hanger on." Someone shows up once there's a whiff of momentum, eager to be associated with it. All appetizer, no main course.
4. "Where do I belong now?" You had a defined community built into the job. Now your context hasn't just shifted, it's exploded outward, and there's no container. You have to build it, pulling people in yourself until it can hold you and the vision of who you're becoming.

I was fairly proud of myself for naming all this so neatly. Turns out understanding a pattern doesn't keep you from re-enacting it. 20 minutes later, I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered if I was having olfactory hallucinations. Something was burning. What does it all mean? Am I losing my mind? Not exactly. I was doing multiple things at once and forgot I was steaming carrots. Steaming turned to burning. Apt metaphor when you are applying too much heat for too long.

If you've had a highly successful corporate career you're good at holding a dozen threads at once and still delivering. But there was a system underneath you at the time; a role with boundaries that told you what really needs your attention. Entrepreneurship strips that scaffolding away and now you have the pressure without the structure that used to convert it to something useful. So you try to solve it all at once, keep the heat on high, because that's what ambition's always demanded of you. Except, now, nothing is telling you when to check the pot. You are the pot, the stove, and the person who's supposed to notice the burning. The burnt carrots are an outdated strategy consequence. What used to make you look impressive now just makes you tired and the kitchen smells like it.

Hanging up, she said: "Enjoy your burnt carrots," laughing. I interpreted it as I'm going to have to live with the consequences of my actions, and maybe, next time, I'll focus on one thing at a time.